Jumble
by TreacleTart301
Summary: For the first time in ages, Harry felt like The Boy Who Was Alive, not just the shell of him that was left after the war.
Harry pushed off of the ground for the first time in what was years, shooting straight up into the air like a cork exploding from a champagne bottle. His old broom felt light underneath him and the wind blowing against his skin felt like the fingers of a long lost lover trailing down his spine. Periodic gusts ruffled through his hair and caused his robes to whip back and forth, slapping against his sides. Smiling, Harry pushed his broom farther.

Looking down, Harry realized how high in the air he was. The wizards and witches on the Quidditch pitch below looked like mere ants crawling across the grass. The lines of the pitch could barely be distinguished even if he squinted. Even the trees looked like toys his son might play with. After a particularly rainy winter, everything below was like a river of green.

It was beautiful from up above. Golden rays of sunlight caressed his skin. Amethyst blue sky surrounded him. A few lazy wisps of clouds drifted by along with the occasional bird. The wind brushing against him was the only sound to be heard. He could almost taste the crispness of the fresh spring air and feel the golden rays of sunlight against his pale, winter skin. Nothing had felt this good in a long time.

Pointing the broom forward and leaning hard against it, Harry accelerated across the sky. His broom leapt forward at increasing speeds, to the point that he was struggling to hold on. He did not let up though. The speed was exactly what he needed.

Suddenly, he dipped down in a rapid arc, plummeting towards the ground. As he got closer and closer to the pitch, he heard a couple of people shriek in the stands. Chuckling to himself, Harry yanked the broom handle up and pulled out of the dive just in time to drag his toes along the tips of the grass. It was reminiscent of one of the many spectacular dives he had pulled against Draco Malfoy in his Hogwarts years.

Once again, Harry shot back up into the sky, the dive having caused a surge of adrenaline to course through his veins. He could feel his heart pounding against his chest cavity as if it were trying to break free of its confines. Jolting his broom back, he did a few loop de loops at blazing speed. He followed it with a corkscrew so fast that it made even the spectators dizzy watching it.

Sheer joy exuded from every pore of Harry's body. All of the stress caused by his life seemed to vanish. All his worries just melted away. The shrieking baby in Ginny's arm, who wouldn't sleep because of almost constant colic, was forgotten momentarily. The pile of paperwork towering over his desk was a distant memory. The nightmares that haunted every hour of his sleep vanished as if they had never existed. The demanding public who expected to know every detail of his life, the life of The Boy Who Lived, were non-existent. Up in the sky there was nothing to drag him down.

For the first time in ages, Harry felt like The Boy Who Was Alive, not just the shell of him that was left after the war. Something about the fresh air and the speed invigorated him in a way that nothing else could. Emptiness settled into his mind. Flying was as natural as ever, requiring nothing but instinct. His broom was nothing more than an extension of himself.

After what seemed to have been only a few minutes, Harry heard a shrill whistle signaling him down from the air. Dejectedly, he stopped midair and headed towards the ground, landing a mere few inches from his friend, Oliver Wood.

"You fly as good as ever Harry. Just like I remember from our Hogwarts days. How did it feel?"

The edges of Harry's mouth curled into the smallest of smiles. "Good."

"Great. Well, like I said in my letter, we have a spot for a seeker open and you were the first person who came to mind. So what do you say, Potter? Are you interested?"

"Of course, I'm interested!"

"Great! I have one last question before we're through."

"What's that?"

"Well, I was just wondering how you're wife is going to take you being on an opposing team. I remember her being quite proficient in hexes and I don't fancy finding myself on the end of one."

The two boys chuckled like long lost friends. "I doubt that she would be fussed."

"Great. Well we'll see you at practice. It starts Monday at 6 sharp. Come a bit early though, so I can introduce you to everyone. Not that you really need an introduction, but you know what I mean."

Shaking hands, the two boys parted ways. As Harry walked towards the locker room, a wave of emotion swelled up inside of him. It was a jumble. A gallimaufry. A cacophony of emotions. There was happiness for making the team, excitement at the idea of flying again, nervousness that he might be out of his league, and a bit of fear that he might let his teammates down, but in all in all, it was the best Harry had felt in a very long time. He hung up his new Quidditch robes in his assigned locker and left for home, a huge smile plastered across his face.

 _Hi there,_

 _This story was originally posted on HPFF for The Logophile Challenge and the word I was assigned was gallimaufry which means a confused jumble or medley of things. I have to admit it was quite a challenge trying to figure out where to use that word, but finally at the last minute this story poured out._

 _If you have a moment to leave a review, I'd love to hear what you think of it!_

 _Thanks for reading!_

 _~Kaitlin/TreacleTart_


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